Some Chicken Soup, a Box of Tissues, and a Little TLC
by sienna27
Summary: Some'verse - Story 3 of 3: Straight up, no fuss, Emily's sick, Hotch is taking care of her. Established H/P. Takes place after 'Some Overdue Sowing of Wild Irish Oats'
1. The Bloom and The Rose

**Author's Note**: I am almost done with chapter two of the wedding, but this came to me while I was writing that, and I couldn't finish the other chapter until I got this one down. I know, I know, we've got plenty of stuff going and we didn't need another, but these things happen. Let's move on, people! And this is just a one shot with probably a relatively short epilogue. To be clear, this takes place _after_, their St. Patrick's Day get together, which has long been in existence.

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**Bonus Challenge #28 - Sneezes And Sniffles And Hiccups, Oh My!**

Show: The Secret Life Of An American Teenager

Title Challenge: I Feel Sick

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**The Bloom and The Rose**

Hotch's eyes popped open onto a black ceiling.

'_What was that noise?_' he thought sleepily to himself. And then he heard it again.

Coughing. Wet and raspy, coughing.

So he reached up and over to the right, fumbling for the bedside lamp switch. Once the light clicked on, he blinked and rolled the other way.

"You okay?" He asked Emily on a yawn.

She pouted back at him.

"I think I'm sick."

And as evidence, she started another round of her fun new, emphysema'esque cough. It was very gross and unattractive, and she was thinking that if the rosy, 'stars in your eyes' bloom wasn't already wearing off their romantic relationship, that this nice coat of spittle and phlegm she was spraying him with, was definitely going to kill it on the vine.

That's when she felt him reach out and brush the back of his hand along her forehead, and then her cheek.

"Oh sweetheart," Hotch murmured as his hand fell back to the blankets, "you're burning up. Did you take anything?"

Then he blinked, trying to focus, even though it was the middle of the night and they'd just landed back home five plus hours ago, after a forty-eight hour case.

He was freaking exhausted.

"No," she winced and scrubbed her hand across her forehead, "I just woke up, and I couldn't stop coughing until I sat up. I do feel awful though."

God . . . she flopped back against her pillows, smothering another cough in her hand . . . was this what dying felt like? Because if dying was _worse_, she was not looking forward to it!

But then she felt Hotch pat her leg, just before he pushed back the blankets.

"Okay," he muttered, still clearly half asleep, "hold on," then he swung his legs around, and dropped his feet to the carpet. And though she wanted to tell him it was fine, to just go back to sleep and she'd take care of herself, she didn't. Because she had never, as an adult person, ever, had a nice sweet boyfriend to take care of her when she was sick. And if he wanted to get up at two am and go get her a glass of water and some pills to take down this monstrous fever, well, damn her to hell for a being a chick, but she was going to let him! Because she really was feeling like complete crap. Her head hurt, and her bones were aching, and the less said about the Saharan wasteland that was her throat, the better.

It felt like somebody had taken a knife and sliced it down the middle.

And sure enough, when Hotch came out of the master bathroom a few seconds later, with a cup of water in one hand and the bottles of Tylenol and cough syrup clutched in the other, that was the first thing he asked about.

"You had that tickle in your throat yesterday," he shook his head, "is that worse now too?"

She nodded sadly.

"Yes," she pouted, "I think I need a new throat now."

That had actually been her only notable symptom yesterday. A tickley feeling in her throat that came and went throughout the day. Yeah, she'd been a little stuffed up too, but it hadn't seemed like more than maybe a little case of the sniffles coming.

But this was no sniffle!

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he leaned down to kiss Emily's forehead.

"I'm sorry Em, but," he leaned back to hand her the bottle of Tylenol, "you take these, and I think that'll help a little. And," he watched her open the bottle, "I think you should call the doctor in the morning, because you know strep is going around the office."

"I know," she bit her lip as he passed her the cup of water, "but I hate going to the doctor. It's always cold there, and they make you take your clothes off."

"Well yeah," his lip quirked up when he turned away to pour her some cough syrup, "that is what they do. But I think you'll be able to get through it. Given your symptoms, I'm sure they'll at least let you keep your pants on. So," he took the wax cup out of her hand and passed her a tiny cup of red liquid instead.

"Now take this one for your cough. It's a little bit expired, but it should at last coat it for now. I'll pick up a new one tomorrow."

Knowing that expired was better than nothing, Emily swallowed down, with a faint wrinkling of her nose, the goopy red medicine.

"Yuck," she made a face, "why do they make medicine in cherry? It just tastes like bad fruit."

"Well," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly at the little scowl on Emily's face . . . that cherry flavoring had really pissed her off, "I'll pick up some grape flavored tomorrow. That usually tastes a little sweeter."

Seeing that proposal had mollified her irritation slightly . . . the line between her eyebrows was evening out . . . Hotch gave her fingers a faint squeeze. And now that Emily was suitably drugged up to (hopefully) get them to morning . . . and the bright red numbers blasting 'ONE FIFTY-SEVEN AM' off the bedside clock SO didn't count as morning(!) . . . he scuttled all of her little medicine cups into the space around her bedside lamp. Then he climbed over her to get back onto his side of the bed. And yes he did indeed have a side of the bed with a woman that he had only been sleeping with for the last twenty-one days.

Since they'd gotten together on St. Patrick's Day night.

They'd been making up for much lost time (about fourteen months worth) since then. Really, though it wasn't an official count or anything, but he figured they probably slept together at least three days out of every seven. Sometimes she was over his place, sometimes he was over hers. The bed didn't matter.

As long as they were together.

And tonight they were together at her place. Which was fortunate, because otherwise he'd be carrying her out to the car to the morning, just to get her back to her own sick bed.

Tonight though, after he'd turned out the bedside lamp he'd turned on a few minutes earlier, he slid down the mattress and rolled over to pull Emily into his arms. Then he pulled up the blankets around both of them.

"I love you," he whispered as his arm slid around her flannel clad stomach. The pink flannel nightshirt was all she wearing since they'd made love three hours earlier. And now he could feel her shifting to wrap her bare leg over his, while simultaneously burying her face against his throat. Whenever they were in bed together, that was always how she preferred to fall asleep. Snuggled up.

It was nice.

"Love you too." She responded back with a slightly nasal murmur, "and thank you for getting my medicine."

"Of course," he sighed as his eyes started to fall shut again, "that's my job."

Feeling her eyes start to sting . . . he was so good to her . . . Emily pressed a kiss to his throat. Then she tried very, very hard to focus on falling back to sleep. Because she knew that if she was this symptomatic already, that she was probably in for a doozey of a couple days. Still though, her body hurt so much, it took as long as it took for the pills to kick in, before she finally passed out.

The bleating of the alarm woke her up five hours later.

She wanted to throw it across the room.

Because sure enough, when her eyes popped open to see Hotch smacking his hand down onto the alarm clock, she had to gasp for breath.

Her nose was completely stuffed up.

"I can't breathe," she rasped out, and Hotch's brow wrinkled worriedly as he turned to help her sit up.

"I kind of saw that one coming." He whispered back. Then he reached over to tuck her against his bare chest, while again brushing the back of his hand down her cheek . . . the skin was warm again.

"Do you want to take a shower to see if that helps clear your head," he continued softly, "or do you want to try and go back to sleep?"

There was no question about whether or not she was going to work . . . she wasn't.

"I'm too achy to get up and take a shower," she mumbled back, trying to keep the whiney tears out of her voice, "even my hands feel like they weigh a million pounds."

Feeling a pang of sympathy . . . his poor baby . . . Hotch leaned down to give her a kiss.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her lips, "but I'm sure you'll be better in a day or so."

"Maybe," she replied with a sad pout before quickly turning to quickly grab a Kleenex off the nightstand . . . her nose was about to start running down her face, "but you know you shouldn't be kissing me, or you'll get sick too."

"Emily," Hotch rubbed her leg, "we had sex less than eight hours ago. Any germs you have, most definitely jumped the great divide. I'm already exposed."

"It's a good thing we did make love last night," she mumbled into her tissue, "because I'm going to be all gross for the next week, and you're not going to want to touch me."

"Sweetheart," he rolled his eyes, "you're not going to be '_gross_.' You're going to have a cold. And I will still love you, and think that you are beautiful and that you have body worthy of the cover of a swimsuit calendar, even if your rattling lungs are keeping me awake, and you're drooling all over the bed."

"Smooth talker," she sniffled back.

He chuckled as he leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead.

"All right," he reached back to pick up the remote off his night table and dropped it down next to her leg, "I'll go make you some tea and," his eyebrow inched up, "you want eggs? Or just toast?"

"Um," she made a face, "my stomach is kind of uck. So maybe just some crackers, please."

God, she hoped this wasn't going to turn into the stomach flu, because that would just be a whole new level of suck. Not to mention, she and Hotch had NOT been sleeping together long enough for him to see her with her head in the toilet!

Spitting phlegm on him was bad enough!

"Crackers aren't very filing," Hotch pointed out, "how about some dry toast instead? You could even try a little jelly. It would help your medicine sit better."

"Okay," she sniffled, "toast and a little jelly," then she gave him a small smile, "thanks hon."

He just winked back, and headed out of the room. Two seconds later he came back and grabbed his socks off the carpet.

"Hardwood's cold," he muttered while sheepishly yanking them on, and she huffed, "please, if it was me going downstairs you know I'd be wearing a fur parka and some fuzzy bunny slippers."

"I know," he nodded while pulling on the second sock, "I'm going to get the heat when I'm down there too."

They were about two weeks officially into Spring, but nobody had told Mother Nature. They'd been in the midst of a brutal cold snap for the last four days.

There had actually been some flurries when they got home last night.

But that was a secondary consideration at the moment. And once he'd pulled his socks on, and grabbed his phone off the nightstand . . . he should probably check for messages . . . he headed back out.

Once Hotch had left the room for the second time, Emily picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. Though she was still absolutely EXHAUSTED, she knew that there was no way in hell that she was falling back to sleep right then. A) she was way too congested to even consider lying down, and B) Hotch was making her tea and toast. And he was doing that even though he needed to go take his shower and get ready for work.

So she certainly wasn't going to be a jerk and just 'doze off' while he was gone.

Besides . . . she started flipping channels . . . the hot tea would probably help clear her sinuses a little bit.

And so she lay there, wheezing, with droopy eyelids, half sliding down the headboard, while she watched SpongeBob flip crabby patties, and waited for Hotch to come back upstairs. Not that he was really gone that long . . . tea and toast were not time suckers . . . but when your main focus on life at that moment, is simply getting oxygen into your lungs, five minutes can seem like a REALLY long time.

But then, hearing something in the hallway, she clicked mute on the TV. A second later, Hotch came back into the room.

She gave him a sleepy smile.

"Hey."

"Hey," his eyes crinkled slightly as he walked around the bed with her TV tray in hand, "I brought you a cup of tea, a glass of water, a glass of apple juice and one slice of wheat toast with grape jam." He placed the tray down over her lap, and moved to fix down the little feet on the sides.

When he straightened back up, he pointed to the drinks.

"Please try to finish everything," he implored softly, "especially all the liquids. I know it looks like a lot."

"Well," her brow wrinkled as she looked down at the three beverages on her tray, "yeah, it kind of is."

"I know sweetheart," Hotch leaned back down to kiss her forehead, "but you need to stay hydrated, and also, you want to thin the mucus, so you can breathe better."

She looked up at him.

"That is the least romantic thing any man has ever said to me."

His mouth quivered.

"Regardless, please drink up. And," his gaze shifted to the bottles next to her bed, "by the time I'm out of the shower, it should be okay for you to take some more Tylenol," then his nose wrinkled. "I do wish we could call your doctor now, but I doubt anybody's there yet."

"Actually," Emily picked up the apple juice, "I think they start appointments around 7:30, so somebody might be there."

"Oh good," his eyebrow inched up, "do you want to call while I'm in the shower?"

"Yeah," she nodded while swallowing down her sip of juice, "I'll call."

So with Hotch giving her a final nod, he turned to head into the bathroom. After he'd closed the door, Emily took a sip of tea, her eyes crinkling slightly when she realized that he'd made it perfectly, just like she liked it. Extra milk, two equal.

Perfect tea . . . perfect man.

And so with the faint sound of the running shower now in the background, she turned to pick up her cell phone. Her head was so foggy that when she got down to her 'doctors' section of the call directory, that she actually forgot for a second which doctor she was calling. Given how many times she'd moved over the years, and how she just transferred her full contact list from one phone to the other, there were like eleven names in there, ranging from primaries to teeth to lady parts. But after closing her eyes for a second, she flashed on her current primary.

Doctor Rozinsky.

Yeah . . . she nodded to herself . . . that was it. She'd just started seeing him late last year when her last doctor had moved his practice to North Carolina. That was Dr. Chan, and seeing his name there on the contact list (still with the local 757 area code) she rolled her eyes.

Gotta clean this thing out.

So she started rolling through the list of doctors' names, deleting and updating as needed. It wasn't until the bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam puffed out, did she realize that she'd gotten completely sidetracked.

Oops.

And so when Hotch with his slightly damp hair, and looking so uber hot and adorable wrapped up with just a way too short towel around his waist, asked if she'd made her appointment, she lied like a God damn rug.

Better that than look like a complete idiot.

"No," she shook her head slowly, "nobody answered," she looked down to the phone and scrolled back to the correct number, "I'll try again now."

Or for the first time . . . potato, potatoh.

"Okay," Hotch walked over to his ready bag sitting on the floor, "if they can take you first thing, I'll run you over. I don't have any meetings until eleven."

"K," she shot him a little smile as she brought the cell to her ear, "thanks hon."

Then she got so distracted with the dimple from Hotch, right before he dropped his towel . . . full frontal view baby . . . that she spaced out for a second thinking about how many fun things she could be doing to him right then, if she wasn't breathing out of one nostril.

"Hello . . . . _hello_."

Whoops . . . she shot back to the present to realize that the nurse had indeed just answered the phone at her doctor's office.

"Hi, um, good morning," she stammered, "uh, would it be possible to come in today for a throat culture? I've picked up some germ and it's probably just a cold, but strep's been going around my office so I'd like to get my throat checked. It's really sore."

Though she was trying to speak in a normal tone of voice, the wheezing, plus constant need to suck in a fresh breath after every third word, did throw off her rhythm a bit.

And she could hear the nurse on the other end of the line, smacking down on a keyboard, before she came back apologetically.

"Well, we're actually kind of back today, but if you can wait until four, I did just get a cancellation off the service."

"Yeah," Emily nodded, "yeah, four's fine. It's uh, Emily Pre . . ."

And she broke off in a spastic coughing fit.

. . . one which wouldn't stop.

Awesome!

While she was trying to stop the spasm'ing of her throat while simultaneously fumbling to not spill the rest of her liquids off her tray, and all over the bed, out of the corner of her eye she saw Hotch hurrying over.

He'd just pulled on his boxers.

"I got it," he whispered while taking the phone away with one hand, and lifting up the breakfast tray from her lap with the other.

"Hi," he started speaking into the phone as he walked over to put the tray down on the vanity, "this is Emily's boyfriend, she's having a bit of a coughing fit so let me just finish this up. Her last name is Prentiss, P-R-E-N-T-I-S-S. And that was four pm, correct?"

While the nurse was confirming Emily's contact information for him, he picked up the glass of water from the tray, and walked it back over to her still huddled over hacking into her hand.

"Here you go sweetheart," he whispered while holding the glass in front of her, before then having to quickly clarify for the woman on the phone that, "no, sorry, not talking to you."

But after another second, while Emily was trying to gulp down the water . . . with the continuous coughing, a quarter of it was dribbling down her face . . . he finally got the four pm confirmation. It came with the instruction for Emily to make sure that she brought her insurance card in that afternoon. So after a, "thank you for fitting her in," he hung up. Then he directed his full attention back where it needed to be.

On Emily.

"You okay?" He murmured while simultaneously putting the phone down on the nightstand and leaning over to rub his hand along her back.

"Uh, huh," she sniffled while wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, "just got a tickle there and I couldn't stop coughing. Um," she looked up at him with a little frown, "do you think you might have time to get me some new cough syrup before work?"

"Of course," he leaned over to kiss her forehead, "I was planning on running to CVS before I went in." Then he straightened up and walked back over to get her tea. "So," he projected over his shoulder, "is there anything else you'll need you besides cough syrup and good tissues? I'm going to go out later too, to pick up some groceries, but just anything else you might need for the day?"

"Um," Emily looked over hopefully, "ice cream. You know," she gave him a little smile, "for my throat."

Mostly for her throat, but also, she was out of ice cream. And she could tell from the way that Hotch's eyes crinkled, that he knew this was a dual use request.

"Fudge Ripple?" He asked with a faintly amused raised eyebrow. She nodded back.

"Yes, please."

"Okay," he whispered, while handing her the tea cup, "one gallon of fudge ripple."

It was fortunate that they had spent SO much time together, before they actually officially _got_ together because so many of these little things, like favorite foods, and favorite movies and TV Shows, that was all stuff he'd picked up through the years. Not to say of course that there weren't still many things that he'd been leaning about Emily since they'd become involved romantically. The way she liked to snuggle against his chest when they went to bed, how she brushed her teeth for exactly two minutes on the top row and two minutes on the bottom, every morning, and every night.

How beautiful she was when she first woke up in the morning with no makeup on at all.

That was all good stuff too. But mostly he was just pleased that all of the news things, and all of the old ones, were blending so well together. His eyes crinkled as he looked down at her sniffling into her wrinkled tissue.

She made him very happy.

So much so that he couldn't stop himself from leaning down to give her another kiss, before he pulled away to go finish getting dressed. And while he was pulling on his clothes for the day, he saw Emily finishing up first the tea . . . and then the apple juice.

The water she drank down with another dose of Tylenol.

He was tying his tie, when she started to push down the blankets, and slowly twisted around to get herself out of bed.

She was very unsteady when she stood up.

"You need something?" he asked while taking a step closer, but she just shot him a sleepy smile.

"Yeah," she rubbed her hands down her arms, "the bathroom."

So with him eyeing her worriedly, she stumbled across the bedroom, and through the bathroom door. When she came out couple minutes later, he could see that she'd tried to wash up a little, though he could tell from the pinch of brow, that it hadn't made her feel much better.

And when she paused in the middle of the room, almost like she couldn't remember what it was she was doing, he walked over and pulled her into a hug.

"Do you want me to make you some more tea?" he murmured with a pat of her back. Then he felt her slowly shake her head, her cheek brushing against his dress shirt, "no, not right now, thanks. I'm a little beverage logged," she tipped her head back to look up at him, "I was thinking that I might setup camp downstairs, because I don't think I'm going to have the energy for going up and down whenever I need something."

Just getting up to go to the bathroom was EXHAUSTING! Her head was spinning, and it was like every stupid muscle in her body was aching. Even her hair, she gave up brushing it after two strokes because all the nerve endings were so sensitive.

They hurt like a bastard.

But feeling Hotch lightly rubbing his hand down her back, that actually felt really nice. It was soothing. Then she heard him whisper, "all right, I'll get your pills and your blanket and your pillow, and get you all setup downstairs," and her eyes started to sting.

He really was the best.

So she mumbled a husky, "thank you," against his chest, while trying not to get her runny nose on his clean tie. And though she really wished that he could stay home with her, that obviously wasn't happening. It's not like she had pneumonia, it was just a cold. She'd live.

Well . . . she started coughing again . . . fingers crossed.

But with Hotch patting her back, and guiding her over to sit on the edge of the bed, she recovered from that spastic attack too. And once she was able to take relatively clear, mouth breaths, again, he squeezed her shoulder. Then he started gathering up everything that needed to go downstairs. And knowing that he wouldn't forget anything, she just leaned over and put her head in her hands while he hurried around the room. A minute later, hearing him call out, "be right back sweetheart," she just mumbled into her hands, "'k."

And sure enough, he was back almost as quickly as he left. That's when he came over and started undressing her. She didn't have to do anything besides extend her arms.

He pulled her flannel nightshirt off, and quickly slipped a clean blue cotton one over her head. After that he got her a pair of underwear . . . she'd been commando since they'd made love the night before . . . and some loose pajama bottoms with little ducks on them.

He helped her step into both.

Then with her still leaning against his chest, he scooped her up, and carried her downstairs. There he laid her down on the couch, which had already been made up with her pillow, and two of her blankets from upstairs.

One to lie on top of, one to cover up with.

And after he'd gotten her all covered up, he put on the TV and turned it, with the volume on low, to Lifetime. Her eyes crinkled sleepily . . . he knew she secretly loved to watch trashy Made for TV, movies. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead, tucked the remote in behind her pillow, and tucked the blanket up around her shoulders.

"Glass of water, tissues, cell phone and Tylenol are all on the table," he whispered as her lashes started to flutter ,"I'm going to run to CVS now and get those other things," he brushed his fingers along her cheek, "if you're sleeping when I get back, I'll leave you a note. And I'll be back at three-thirty to pick you up for the doctor. I'll call you at three to make sure you wake up."

"K," she murmured back with a little smile, "thanks honey. Love you."

"Love you too," he whispered with another kiss to her forehead, "and I hope you feel better. Call me if you need anything."

She nodded as her eyes started to fall shut again.

"Yep," she murmured with a raspy breath . . . and then she passed out.

Hotch looked down at Emily for a moment . . . her breathing sounded terrible. And he really did hate to leave her, but he couldn't stay home just because she had a cold.

She wasn't a child.

Still though, he worried. And so after he'd finished the quick run to the drugstore on the corner, he came back to put the ice cream away, and the one can of chicken broth out on the counter . . . he was planning on getting ingredient for real soup after they went to the doctor . . . he laid out all of her new bottles on the coffee table with a note. And he wrote the note, because he knew that she might be a little too drowsy to keep track of her doses on her own. So he reminded her what time she'd taken her Tylenol, and when she could take the next dose. Then he told her how much cough syrup she was allowed, and how often she was allowed it. And he reminded her to only take the daytime one for now, or she wouldn't wake up for her doctor's appointment. He signed the note with an _'I_ _love you_,' before drawing an arrow on the bottom of the piece of paper. Once he placed the paper down on the table, he pulled a small bag out of his coat pocket.

He placed it a few inches over from the tip of the arrow.

His eyes crinkled as he straightened up.

Two movie theater sized Hershey bars, and an oversized Reeses peanut butter cup. That should last her until he got home.

And with that, he fixed her blanket, blew her a kiss . . . and headed off to work.

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_A/N 2: I can't remember a point I've ever posted so many new stories in such a short period. I don't think I ever have. And I do have chapters lined up elsewhere, but it's been an odd week and not conducive to focus and finalizing things as I would like. As a side element to that, I have deleted all my social media apps from my phone, and closed out their tabs on my laptop. I think I'm going to allow myself Twitter/Tumblr a scroll through once every two days, and Facebook maybe once a week. If I want to post something, that will be different but overall all they do is just WASTE your time! And you don't even really pick up on it. Yes, sometimes you do because sometimes you're just bored and screwing around, but mostly it's like, 'oh let's just pop in for a second' and you do it 'just for a second' like ten times a day over X number of accounts and it's just ridiculous. I also think it's messing with my ability to concentrate, so enough. I'm going to live my cyber life, like I'm back in the Stone Age . . . 2010._

_It is nice here writing different 'interests' for them. Mostly I write Girl H/P, and I pretty much know their hobbies like I know my own. But here, this Emily likes trashy movies and flannel pajamas. Though she still likes cuddling with Hotch, because really, who wouldn't? :)_

_There will be a short epilogue here._

_Thanks!_


	2. What The Nurse Said

**Author's Note**: I have been sick for seven days and counting. So we can consider that the 'inspiration' to add another chapter in here. Consider it diversionary fluff, for both you to read, and me to write :)

Picking up that afternoon.

* * *

**What The Nurse Said**

Hotch sat back in the chair to cross his arms and his legs. Ten seconds later he dropped his feet back to the floor.

Then he crossed his legs again.

His fidgeting was interrupted by Emily lightly patting his arm.

"Honey," she rasped, "I know that you want to check on that case, so you can go if you need to go. I'll just catch a cab home when I'm done here."

"What?" he whipped his head around to look over at her. "No," he scowled, "I'm not _leaving_ you here to take a cab home! Don't be ridiculous."

Of course he would never abandon Emily _anywhere_, and certainly not in the doctor's office when she was SICK!

That said . . . he took a small breath . . . he would _begrudgingly_ acknowledge, (to himself) that she was correct in interpreting his _slight_ antsiness as arising from concern about a certain case.

He was a little worried about the Sheboygan situation.

Specifically, the Sheboygan P.D. had been hunting a serial rapist on their own for the last seven weeks. And then with the BAU's remote assistance over just this _past_ week, they'd finally been able to narrow their suspect list down from all of the metropolitan area, to just three possible candidates. And the locals had been staking out all three of those men for the last eleven hours. Hotch had been expecting an update at two pm from the detective in charge, but there still hadn't been any word when he'd left the office at three.

Of course no news might have been good news . . . there could have been a major break and they were just busy taking the perpetrator's confession . . . but he had no way of _knowing_ that. Nor did he have any way of knowing if they needed any additional assistance. Hotch's gaze drifted over to the large red sign on the wall.

And that was because he'd been in a _'No Cell Phone Zone'_ for the last thirteen minutes. Hence the antsiness. So he didn't know if Detective Eigenberger might have been trying to call him.

He was hoping not.

And though he would have loved to just run outside for TWO MINUTES to check his messages, Emily really should be getting called up any second. And he was afraid that if he left, he'd miss her getting called in, and by extension completely miss the appointment. And he'd promised her that he'd go in with her.

It was a new doctor that Emily had only been to once before, and she still wasn't sure if she liked him yet or not.

So Hotch was going to observe the man's 'technical skills' and 'bedside manner' . . . aka decide if this doctor was 'qualified' and 'worthy' of the responsibility of taking care of the most important woman on the planet.

But Hotch couldn't_ make_ those determinations . . . his internal self-flagellation began to kick up . . . if he was out pacing in the parking lot, yelling into his phone being, "Workaholic Boyfriend!" And of course the previous title held by "Workaholic Boyfriend" had been "Workaholic Husband."

That had been his last title before the divorce.

And when he and Emily had gotten together, the first promise Hotch had made to himself, was to not screw things up with her, the same way that he had with Haley. So if it came down to him to turning off his phone and just sitting his ass DOWN in a chair, to be there for her when she needed him, and right now Emily did need him, then damn it . . . he let out a faintly righteous huff . . . that was what he was going to do!

Though when he saw the object of his internal ruminations now looking over at him with that faint worried little wrinkle in her brow that he knew oh so well, he was thinking that maybe it wasn't quite enough for him to simply make the pronouncement that he was staying, and then JUST sit there with her. He should actually be 'mentally present' with her as well. And anxiously fidgeting in his chair while repeatedly checking the time, clearly was not sending the right message about his desire to be "present" in that moment.

No, it was announcing to the world, "I'd rather be anywhere but here," in that moment.

Which meant that he was kind of being a dick.

So he took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. And when he looked back over at his girl again, he had a small, apologetic, smile on his face.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he whispered while leaning over to press a quick peck to her lips, "you're right. I am a little anxious to find out what's going on with that case, but," he brought his hand up to cup her jaw, "I do want to be here with you. They don't actually need me. I was just waiting to hear how the surveillance went today and, uh," he tipped his head, "well, sometimes it's just hard to shift over to normal life again." His hand dropped down as he bit down his lip. "You know?"

That was one of the great differences, and truly, advantages, of their relationship. Emily understood the job, and how it got under your skin. Haley never did.

She never could.

"Yeah," Emily's eyes crinkled, "I know it's hard. But," she sniffled into her Kleenex, "I appreciate you trying. And really Aaron," she patted his leg, "if you want to go check your messages just for peace of mind, I'll be fine." Her lip quirked up. "I'm a big girl. I can go in by myself. And you can meet Doctor Rozinsky some other day."

It was already somewhat miraculous that Hotch had chosen to leave work two HOURS early to take her to the appointment himself (she could have driven in a pinch), and agree to go in with her to meet the doctor. That was certainly enough of an, "I Really Love You, and I _Do_ Put You First," gold star demonstration for one day. So if he needed to do a quick voicemail check just to keep from stress bursting that little vessel in his left temple, that was of course more than fine with her.

But then she saw him shaking his head.

"No," he then responded softly, while leaning over to slip his arm around her shoulders, "I'm staying right here. Eigenberger has JJ's number too, so if they need another consult, she can always get Rossi for him. So," he gave another pat to her shoulder in order to shift gears, "how's your throat feeling?"

For a second Emily ignored the question to instead eyeball Hotch to make sure that he wasn't just lying his ass off about the consult thing to make her feel better. But seeing none of his telltale stress quirks in full bloom . . . tension around the mouth, faintly quivering nerve over the left temple . . . she knew he was being sincere. And seeing that he was confident there was sufficient 'consult coverage' in place if it was indeed needed, she let go of her own worries to tip her head over to his shoulder.

"It's still hurting," she croaked back with a faint pout, "a lot."

To which he responded with a kiss to her non-Kleenex hand while murmuring that she'd feel better once she got some good medicine. Then he added that he was picking up the chicken soup ingredients on the way home, and he was thinking about maybe stopping to get her some of those peanut butter cookies from that Georgetown bakery too. What did she think about that?

Her eyes crinkled as she snuggled into his side.

"That sounds great," she coughed out.

And so for a few more minutes they just sat there quietly, but then Emily reached over to rub her hand across his stomach.

"You've got some admirers in the corner," she murmured behind her tissue.

Feeling a twinge of amusement, Hotch's gaze subtly shifted up and around the room before his eyes dropped back down to the floor.

"Seven o'clock?"

"Yep," Emily chuckled into her now crumpled Kleenex, "they've been staring at you off and on since we sat down. Now they're not even pretending to do anything else."

A small group of women, ranging from early thirties to probably mid-forties, were sitting on the left side of the large waiting room, near the reception desk for the OBGYN that shared Rozinsky's office space. Each of the women (two of whom were obviously very pregnant) had a forgotten magazine lying open in their laps. Occasionally of them would whisper something down the line. Then someone else would whisper something back. From Emily's observations, it had been QUITE obvious that Hotch was the topic of all whispering to date!

One of them had even snapped his picture with her cell phone!

"Well," Hotch whispered with a kiss to Emily's cheek, "I am devastatingly handsome."

"Ha!" Emily half chuckled, half snorted, "you jest, but," she shot him a quick grin, "you really, really are."

It was just as he was shooting her a wink back, that Emily heard the nurse call her name.

"Ms. Prentiss."

"Oh, here," Emily croaked out while clumsily waving her tissue hand as Hotch helped her to her feet, "right here."

And then the nurse waited patiently at the open door, while Hotch walked her across the room.

Seeing the questioning look coming from the scrubs clad woman, Emily just patted his stomach again.

"He's the one taking care of me."

Then from behind them, Emily immediately heard the stage whispered, "he can take care of me any day." Followed immediately by a, "I heard that," and she couldn't help herself.

She burst out laughing.

Fortunately (and that was "fortunately" being used here with the SADDEST definition imaginable) the ill-timed laughter was covered up by her morphing into the now standard 'spastic coughing' which had developed that morning.

Yay!

So with Emily once again hacking up her entire respiratory system, while doubled over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hotch (as he had every other time he'd been present for this display) immediately took control of the situation. This time he scooped her up and carried her through the open doorway.

From over her death thralls, Emily heard the nurse saying, "just ahead." And then her feet were back on the carpet, and two seconds later, a tiny paper cup was being shoved into her hand.

"Drink this sweetheart."

So she drank. One . . . two . . . three . . . FOUR, Dixie cups of water, one after another. It wasn't until after the fourth one, with her shirt now visibly soaked and water still dribbling down her chin (classy), that she was finally able to suck in a decent breath again.

And when she looked up, with her eyes watering and her nose running, Emily realized that she'd drawn a crowd of fairly concerned, medical professionals.

There were four pairs of scrubs standing around her.

Including the new doctor that she wanted Hotch to meet.

Good timing!

"Dr. Rozinsky," she coughed out, "good afternoon."

"Ms. Prentiss," the doctor responded with a dry concern while simultaneously popping out a pen light to begin checking her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Uh yeah," she blinked into the mini spotlight, "it was just that cough that I was here for anyway. It kind of, uh," she sheepishly wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, "got away from me there."

Understatement. Of. The. Year.

"Ah," he pulled the light back with a snap, "all right then. At least you didn't blow a vessel in your eye." Then his gaze shifted over to one of the nurses.

"So let's get Ms. Prentiss set up in exam three. I'll be along in a few minutes," his attention shifted back to Emily as he gestured over his shoulder, "I was just finishing up with another patient."

"All right," she barked another cough, "thank you doctor."

And when he turned and started back down the corridor, she lifted her hand to point towards his back.

"That was Dr. Rozinsky," she croaked out to Hotch with a little smile.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I got that." Then he gave her a good natured head shake.

"Oh Emily, you are uh," he reached over to pick up the end of her shirt . . . he started to wring it out, "soaked."

And feeling just how soaked she really was . . . VERY . . . he looked over at the nurse.

"Is there a hand dryer back here?"

Basically about half of the water Emily had tried to swallow down, she'd just coughed back out again. If her overcoat hadn't been unbuttoned then that probably would have been fine. The droplets would have repelled off the wool. But as it was, most of her front was drenched down to her skin.

And in her condition she had no business walking around in wet clothing.

And he could see the nurse looking down at Emily's shirt, and then up to Emily sniffling into a fresh tissue . . . she'd just pulled it from her pants pocket . . . and then finally over to him again.

"Yes," she turned and pointed, "the main bathroom. Two doors down on the left side of the hall." Then she gestured a little further down the corridor. "And after she cleans up, you can go straight down to exam three at the end of the hall. The number's on the door. Oh wait though," she turned back around and gestured to the scale a few feet away from the reception desk, "let's just quickly do the height and weight before you go."

So Hotch helped Emily off with her sneakers and coat and she walked over and climbed on.

A moment later, after the nurse had finished doing her calculations, and Emily found out that she'd gained a half a pound since her last visit, she turned to shoot a scowl at Hotch.

"That's your fault!"

And when he sputtered out a, "what did I do?" she started counting off on her fingers all of the liquids that he'd made her drink that day. And though she could see his jaw immediately drop like he was about to counter her statement with some retort, a split second later it snapped shut again. Then his eyes crinkled as he stooped down to help her into her sneakers again.

"You're right," he nodded contritely as she balanced herself with a hand on his back, "that half a pound is very likely my fault. I did give you a lot of liquids," he began tightening the lace on her sneaker, "and that would definitely cause some fluid retention. I apologize."

As he straightened up, Hotch noticed the nurse was staring at him with a big grin.

"What?" He asked a bit self consciously, and she started to chuckle.

"Just wondering where I could get one of you for personal use." Then she turned to Emily with a little smile.

"You're a lucky lady. And," she gestured down the hall as she started to walk back to the reception desk, "you're all set if you want to get cleaned up."

The last she added with an amused jerk of her head off to the left, just before she turned to start jotting her notes down in Emily's chart.

And seeing that they had been effectively 'dismissed,' after checking Emily's other shoelace (then retying it just for good measure) Hotch put his hand on Emily's shoulder, and started walking them down the hall.

Emily was already sneezing into a fresh tissue.

Fortunately it took only a moment to find the bathroom. And as they stepped through the doorway, Hotch was pleased to see that it was a handicap accessible room.

Which meant that they had more than 'stall size' space to move around.

And knowing that the doctor would be looking for them soon, he tried to make fast work of Emily's wardrobe issues by helping her to quickly get off her coat and her shirt. Then, seeing her standing there shivering in just her bra, he wrapped her back up in the overcoat again. Then he smacked a quick kiss on her forehead before he moved on to the reason they were in the bathroom to begin with.

Getting her shirt dried.

Except . . . his plan really wasn't working that well. Yes, there was a hand dryer on the wall, but the shirt was just too wet, and the nozzle was just too small, for it to do much good. He'd have to stand there for twenty minutes to get the damn thing dried out.

And they didn't have that kind of time.

"Okay," he gave up with a sigh as he turned around and dropped the red turtleneck into the sink, "this isn't working. So let's just go with Plan B."

"What's . . .?"

Emily didn't have a chance to get the question out, before she saw that Hotch was taking off his coat.

He hung it on the back of the door.

Two seconds later his suit jacket had joined the coat . . . and then his tie joined the jacket . . . and then he was unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Emily's eyes crinkled as he started sliding the first sleeve down from his shoulder.

"You are _literally_ giving me the shirt off your back," her lower lip popped out as she sniffled into her tissue, "that's so romantic."

All right, that was sort of a cheesy thing to say out loud. And maybe it was partly born of the half gallon of cold medicine she'd sucked down that day, but still, she was standing by the thought.

It was totally romantic!

"Yes, well," Hotch held the shirt up, "you need something dry to put on." His lip quirked up, "and I have something dry to spare. So," he made a little gesture, "coat off, arms out."

Emily immediately did as instructed, quickly tossing her coat over the sink so Hotch could help her slip into his dress shirt. Of course it was entirely too big for her, but after he'd rolled the sleeves up, he buttoned it three quarters of the way down, and tied off the loose ends around her waist.

"There," he stepped back to look down at her, "good enough."

And as he turned, now in only his t-shirt, to get down his suit jacket again, Emily turned to look at herself in the mirror.

"Aww," she bit her lip, "you even made it look nice."

When Hotch turned around, and their eyes caught in the reflection of the mirror, she gave him a little smile.

"You are the best boyfriend and I love you," with both hands she mimed a giant heart covering over her whole chest, "this much."

Hotch's eyes crinkled.

"Thank you for that," he said while leaning down. Then he continued with a mumbled kiss against her lips, "but I still love you more."

Then he pulled away with a dimple and a wink. A dual action that made Emily feel a bit flush in the face and weak in the knees . . . and she was pretty sure that reaction had nothing to do with the rhinovirus currently ravaging her body.

And as he went back to pulling himself together again, she thought back to the nurse's comment . . . and how far they'd come in just a few months. And when he turned to straighten out his lapel in the mirror, she found herself reaching out to catch his arm.

Yep . . . she pulled him down into another kiss . . . she was a lucky, lucky gal!

* * *

_A/N 2: Again, fluff. I have been working on some other things. Hoping to get a chapter of Something Wicked up this month. For one thing, it's almost done, and for another, Halloween is coming. And shockingly enough, over five plus years I've NEVER managed to post anything creepy or scary around Halloween. It would be a small victory, but without the small victories, what else do we have really? :)_

_Oh, and side point to that, Kavi and I are still are running our prompts forum (now a Tumblr) and if anyone is interested, the Halloween prompts will be going up this week. _

_I think this will be the last chapter for this story, so I'll close it out for now. The universe is still open though, if I get another idea for them._

_Thanks everyone!_


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